Gun shots
by MyAlias
Summary: Sydney tries to make sense of the last five days. Takes place immediately after Truth Takes Time.


Disclaimer - I do not own anything about Alias or any of the characters written about here. They all belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot and ABC etc.  
Gun shots  
  
The lights in the bedroom were out. She was lying in bed, his arm was around her side.   
  
Surprisingly, she didn't feel like crying. She just felt numb all over.   
  
She was thinking. She couldn't stop. Shutting her eyes to try and fall asleep just made it worse. When her eyes were shut she could almost see the thoughts rushing before her.  
Every time Sydney thought she could never experience any thing worse than whatever had just happened, life surprised her. This time, it was the last five days that left her so emotionally drained and confused.   
  
The theme of the last five days? Gun shots.  
  
She could still here the sound of each one of them ringing in her ears. But through the gun shots she heard something else. A voice in the back of her head saying, "Truth takes time. What does it mean?"  
*****************  
  
Gun shot number one.  
She was running down the hall when she heard it. Somehow she knew. She knew what it was and who it was meant for.   
  
And when she entered the doorway her fear was confirmed. Crumpled in the corner was Vuaghn, Sark stood above him waving his gun.   
  
Before she could let herself cry - or scream with anguish - she had to remembered why she was there in the first place. She aimed her gun and fired. The bullet ricocheted off the railing and Sark fled. She could not have moved any faster down the stairs than she did.  
  
Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Each stair felt like an eternity. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. He had to be alright. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. She ran, reminding herself to breathe, reminding herself of what she needed to do. Step. Step. Step.   
She reached him. Once again, she felt like crying, but this time for a different reason. She held his head in her hands and kissed him. She couldn't remember ever having felt so relieved before.  
  
In the few moments she spent running down the stairs, she thought of nothing else but him. She wasn't thinking about having to rush to catch her mother. She wasn't thinking about the mission being a failure. She was only thinking about getting to him as quickly as she possibly could. Almost every single shred of sanity she had felt for months had been because of him. For those seconds, all she could think of was that she needed him.   
  
In the few moments she sat with him on the staircase, relief replaced the terror that had made her cold inside.   
**************  
  
She didn't know if it was cold or hot in the bedroom. She was shaking a little bit, almost shivering. At the same time, her feet were sweating and her hands were clammy. She was still numb, but the urge to throw up was creeping up on her slowly.   
  
How could it not be? After everything she had seen and felt over the past few days...how else was one supposed to respond to a situation like this one?  
  
She wrapped her hand tightly around his arm. If she could borrow some of his strength for a second she would be okay.  
  
In her mind she still heard the noises.   
  
She still heard the, "What does it mean?"   
  
And she still heard the gunshots, one after the other, ringing in her ears.  
**************  
  
Gunshot number two.  
When people close to you die, a part of you always wants to believe they are coming back. You can go to the funeral and weeks and months can go by, and still, a part of you hopes that they will return. After a while, of course, you move on and realize they can't come back..  
  
Unless you're Sydney Bristow. Then they come back sometimes.  
  
Her mother came back.  
  
And so did Emily.  
  
When she had seen Emily in the consulate, she didn't know whether to be thrilled or angry. Part of her wanted nothing more than to run over to her and embrace her. But another part was more disappointed in Emily for doing nothing about Sloane than happy to see her living.   
  
She didn't know how to start. "I spoke at your funeral," was all she could come up with. It seemed appropriate. It seemed to convey every emotion Sydney was feeling at that moment. Sydney was composed, she was to-the-point, and she was confused. All she knew was that her belief in the concept of death was getting cloudier and cloudier as her life unfolded.   
  
She wasn't mad at Emily, exactly. She wasn't delighted to see her, either. Emily sat before her, and Sydney didn't know how to react. Here was a woman who was so in love with her husband that she had stayed with him even after she learned of all of his lies. Somehow, she saw - and loved - a good side of him. A side that had schemed for months to save her instead of just killing her. A side that promised he could be better, a side that promised to change.  
  
And now, could she really be willing to give him up, to do what was right? Emily assured her that she knew he would never change. Still, Sydney had to wonder if she was really strong enough to do what she had promised.   
Everything was set up. The agents were outside the house. Once again, Sloane and Irina were within reach. But the seconds ticked by and Emily had still not said the words, she still wasn't going to the wine cellar.   
  
The connection was lost.  
  
She hadn't been strong enough. After all, she was in an impossible situation. Sydney herself had said it.   
And now she was running across the grass with Sloane. She was risking her life to be with someone because she was too afraid to do anything else, because for 30 years she had believed something and she wasn't ready to give up believing in it.   
  
And some part of Sydney understood how that felt. It was the part of her that her mother found in people and used against them. The part that told you to follow your heart, to believe in someone.   
Sydney kneeled next to her body. Emily didn't deserve this. Everyone else at that house understood the constant game of life-and-death they were playing. It was a choice they had made for themselves. Emily hadn't. It was only part of her life because she had loved someone. The choice had been made for her and now she was the one who was dead.  
  
Sydney started weeping. She felt as if she was losing her mother all over again.  
  
Emily was still warm. She looked so alive, except for the blood.  
  
She couldn't help but think of Danny. His death was real. He was never coming back.  
  
And now Sydney held another bleeding body in her hands. Another person that had died because of Arvin Sloane.   
  
Emily wasn't coming back either.  
************  
The numbness had remained as Sydney had sorted through her memories of Emily.   
  
She listened to his breathing. She could tell he wasn't sleeping. He was thinking, just like she was. Or worrying.  
  
She hoped he wasn't worrying about her, but deep down she was sure that he was. She was so angry with herself for not being strong enough to get through this without him - without his arm wrapped around her - but she knew she wasn't. And so did he. He didn't need an explanation. He just knew when she needed someone to be there for her.   
  
The sound of his breathing was drowned out by the noises in her head.  
  
The same noises that had plagued her since her head had hit the pillow.  
  
The voice that said, "Truth takes time... What does it mean?"  
  
And the gun shots. Each one brought with it a different emotion.   
  
The first shot she had allowed herself to think of had brought a feeling of pure terror. The second gunshot she remembered had brought a terrible feeling of sadness that had rushed through her veins and brought tears to her eyes.  
  
The shot she had tried to avoid thinking about brought a feeling she didn't even know if she could describe. She hoped the memory could silence both of the noises in her head.  
************  
  
Gunshot number three.  
She reached around the corner and shot. She retreated back against the concrete wall.  
  
Like an echo, her mother had fired back.  
  
Before she knew it she was staring up the escape hatch commanding her mother to freeze.  
  
And now she had a choice to make, and only a split second in which to make it.   
  
Would she shoot her own mother, or would she hesitate?  
  
Vaughn had warned her, a moment's hesitation could mean her life. She couldn't let her mother get away again.   
  
Her mother glanced at her, almost smiling. Did she think Sydney wouldn't do it?  
  
A bullet escaped her gun. Sydney stood, frozen for a moment, as her mother collapsed over the edge.   
**************  
  
Sydney replayed the memory over and over and over again. She was determined not to stop until she had come to some conclusion.  
  
Until she understood.  
  
After replaying that gun shot in her head at least a dozen times, the familiar voice came back.   
  
"Truth takes time," it said. Slowly, the realization crept up on her. It didn't make any sense. Nothing did. It wasn't supposed to.   
  
She wasn't supposed to understand what had happened. She wasn't supposed to understand how she could shoot her own mother and not feel awful about it. She wasn't supposed to understand the look her mother had given her. She wasn't supposed to understand how or why anything had happened.   
  
Strangely enough, it upset her that the message from her mother wasn't irrational, that it wasn't a threat, that it didn't go along with her black-and-white image of her mother as a traitor. Although it was much easier to despise her mother, she had to face the fact that it was her mother's message that had caused her realization.   
  
Truth takes time. Maybe someday she would be able to understand everything, but not   
tonight.  
  
She wondered what truths her mother could possibly reveal that could explain everything - that could explain anything. She didn't have the foggiest idea - but then again, she wasn't supposed to.  
  
The numbness was still there. She could never fall asleep feeling this way.   
  
The arm around her tightened.  
  
"Syd," he said.  
  
"I still don't want to talk," she replied softly. She lied still with her eyes closed for several minutes. She thought she could fall asleep, but she couldn't. The numbness was still there. She turned over onto her other side.  
  
"Vaughn," she whispered.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She put her hand on the side of his face and kissed him.   
  
"What was that for?" he asked.  
  
She didn't feel numb anymore. It felt good to not feel numb, even if it meant she had to deal with the emotions of the past few days. She had to deal with the anger, the sadness, the betrayal, the fear, the relief, the confusion.  
  
"Everything," she replied.  
  
She shut her eyes and he brushed a stray hair off of her forehead. There were no words floating in front of her. There were no noises in her head anymore. For the moment, she was calm.  
  
She finally fell asleep, his arm still wrapped around her. 


End file.
